After All These Years
by J Stravinski
Summary: We all know Charlotte and Vincent have history. How does it all pan out?
1. Chapter One

PAIRING: Charlotte/Vincent  
  
SPOILERS: Season five and six  
  
SUMMARY: Charlotte and Vincent work some stuff out.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own anyone who works on Ward 17. Their creators are much more talented.   
  
CREDITS: Thanx to Cal and Lorance for the beta and assistance. Title snurched from a Silverchair song.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
"Coffee?" He poured her a cup without waiting for a response. "Here you go."  
  
Charlotte was curled up on his sofa, feet tucked under her. She looked up absently, her face showing momentary confusion.  
  
"Oh, thanks," she said, taking the mug from him.  
  
"Are you OK?"  
  
She paused, not sure how to respond. In the old days she would have stretched out on the sofa, her head in his lap, him lightly stroking her hair. In the old days she'd come home from work, tired, broken, and he'd be there. Just as tired, just as broken. In the old days they never talked. She had been just as alone then, she thought.  
  
She realised he was looking at her. What did she have to lose, she decided. They hadn't worked then, the least she could do was see if they work now. Salvage a friendship with a man who had once loved her.  
  
"Thinking, that's all," she replied. She sat up, mug held with two hands, staring into its murky brown contents. She heard him move beside her.  
  
"What about?" he asked. He sat next to her, but far enough away that they didn't touch. She sighed, and leant back into the couch. Turning towards him, she offered him a chance to renege. "You really want to know?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, I do," he replied. He sounded so sincere, she thought. Where was this man when she'd been his wife? Who had he been listening to while she'd needed someone to listen?  
  
Charlotte shook her head clear. She didn't want to go down that route. Not tonight. Probably not ever.  
  
"Charlotte?" he asked. His hand reached out to her, touching her arm. She looked up at him and smiled weakly. Before she could stop them, tears threatened the back of her eyes.  
  
"I'm just lonely, I guess," she mumbled. She sniffed, and he moved closer.  
  
"Talk to me, Charlotte. You've gotta talk to someone, let it be me."  
  
Charlotte paused, then answered.  
  
"I loved her, Vincent. I loved her, and she was there, and we were there, and we were together. And it was wonderful." She looked into his eyes through her tears. "She was everything I'd ever wanted," she whispered.  
  
"What happened?" His hand caressed her arm comfortingly.  
  
"She got married." Charlotte laughed. "She got married. How ironic is that. I finally leave you to start dating women, and I fall in love with all the married ones. All the married ones, Vincent."  
  
Vincent ignored the voices in his own head at her words. He had offered to listen, he would give her that. "All of them?"  
  
Charlotte nodded. "Yep. Every single one. I was still in love with Liz when Bron and I did whatever it was that we did. God, how tragic is that? I moved from one experiment to another. Got my heart broken twice in less than a year. God, why do I do that? Vincent, why do I let myself fall for the wrong ones?"  
  
His heart broke at the pain in her eyes. She wanted answers to questions he couldn't even begin to understand. He reached a hand up to her face, and she leant her cheek into his palm.  
  
"Tell me about her."  
  
Charlotte was surprised by the question. He'd never really understood, although she knew he had tried. He'd never had the time to listen to what she needed, or be there when she was alone. Yet here he was, caring, asking about the one thing that had hurt him most.  
  
"Um ... are you sure?" she asked. He nodded yes. She took a deep breath, touching her tongue to her lip, and thought. "OK. Bron. She was ... she was cute," she giggled. "I noticed her my first day on the ward. This hot redhead working where I was, it was almost too good to be true. Well, it was too good to be true, wasn't it?"  
  
Out of habit, she lay down on the couch, her head in Vincent's lap. She felt more comfortable that way. Less exposed. He stroked her hair, but they didn't touch further.  
  
"Ben was an ambulance officer. Bron used to be his partner. Ambulance partner. They started dating later. They got engaged, she went overseas, they broke up, he started shagging Paula." Charlotte paused while Vincent digested the soap opera element, then continued. "One night at Cougars, Bron wanted to make Ben jealous. We were drunk. I was drunk. She was more drunk. We ended up back at her place, and we kissed again. I kissed her. I think. She kissed me back. She was ... curious," Charlotte smiled. She looked up at Vincent to see how he was taking it all. "Go on," he encouraged.  
  
Charlotte's face dropped slightly. "I knew it was stupid. Everyone told me it was stupid. Terri asked a thousand times if I was sure I knew what I was doing. I just didn't care, you know? I had her and he didn't. It was stupid. You can't just change someone. You can't just turn a straight woman into a lesbian, no matter how good you are in bed."  
  
"Oh, good in bed are you?" Vincent teased. Charlotte looked up at him.  
  
"Hell yeah. The best, baby. You don't know what you're missing out on."  
  
"If it requires not having a penis, I think I'd rather be missing out."  
  
"It's always about the penises with the men," Charlotte teased. Vincent nodded in a matter-of-fact way. "So what happened?"  
  
Charlotte shrugged. "She and Ben got back together. I told her the morning of the wedding that I was in love with her. She didn't believe me. Well, I think she would have, but I didn't let her. I couldn't let her. Hell, I'd already stuffed up my life, I could hardly stuff hers up too."  
  
"Like I stuffed yours up, you mean?" Vincent asked.  
  
Charlotte reached out for his hand, weaving their fingers together. "How do you mean?"  
  
"Well, you couldn't ask a straight woman to leave her husband for you. That's what I asked of you, isn't it?"  
  
"It wasn't like that, Vincent."  
  
"How was it then?"  
  
"We were different. I didn't know. Anyway, weren't we talking about me?"  
  
Vincent sighed inwardly. He was so close to the answers he'd been wanting for years, but more than answers he wanted to be there for her. "Yeah, we were," he said. "So, who was Liz?"  
  
"Oh, she was married, too. Doctor from upstairs. Wanted to try out the whole 'women' thing. Her husband had no idea. He came onto the ward one day. As a patient. I was with Bron. 'With'." Charlotte laughed cynically. "Bron and I were having sex, let's put it that way. Suddenly there's Liz's husband stretched out on a bed. I didn't ... I couldn't ... I don't know. She hurt me so badly. It wasn't fair, what she did. I was in love with her, and to her I was just an experiment to throw away when it didn't work. They were happy, her and her husband. And I was just meant to accept that."  
  
Vincent sat silently while Charlotte cried for a moment. He didn't understand how she could love a woman, let alone a married woman, but he understood pain.  
  
"You were with Bron then, you said?" he asked.  
  
Charlotte nodded, sniffing. "Yep. I walked back onto the ward, the woman who I was still stupidly in love with holding her husband's hand, and the other woman I was doing the craziest things for standing behind the desk. It was insane. I knew the thing with Bron would end just as badly as the thing with Liz, and I had Liz there as proof of how painful it was. But I wanted so badly to be loved, you know? I just needed to have someone. And she was there. We were best friends, really. That's what made it so hard. There wasn't any attraction on her part. It was just a friendship that went too far. Too messy. Never," she warned him with a stern shake of a finger, "fall in love with your best friend. It's a surefire road to disaster."  
  
"I'll remember that," he smiled.  
  
"I still think of her all the time," Charlotte said, distance in her voice. "They moved to the country. She came back for Mitch's funeral. That was the craziest day. Here I am mourning the guy I spent my first six months on the ward arguing with, and my heart's noticing the nurse it spent all that time chasing. It was an easy place to cry, though. I hugged her and bawled my eyes out and pretended it was for Mitch. I just miss her so much, you know? I miss hanging out with her. I miss rounding a corner and seeing her there. Even if we weren't together ..."  
  
"You'd feel worse," Vincent interrupted. "Unrequited love sucks, Charlotte. But kidding yourself is just as bad. Pretending you've got a chance when you don't."  
  
"Thanks for shattering my dream," she replied, squeezing his side playfully.  
  
"You knew it couldn't last. Didn't you?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess so," Charlotte sighed. "I hoped I was wrong. I thought surely I'm good enough that she'd want to be with me over him." She laughed. "Even that's not really true," she said.  
  
"How do you mean?"  
  
"Oh, I knew. You're right. Terri was right. Hell, everyone was right. I knew she and Ben would get back together. I think," she paused, thinking. "I think I wanted her and Ben to get back together. She wasn't happy, not really. I mean, we were like two little school girls, and the sex was, admittedly, pretty damn hot, but she was in love with him, not me. I was just there to give her someone to think about, so she wouldn't fall apart. I knew that all along, I suppose. I just hoped. You know how you hope. Logic means fuck all when you're in love."  
  
Charlotte rose from the couch, taking her empty mug to the sink. Vincent watched her as she rinsed it and put it on the bench, then stood, hands on the edge of the sink, staring at the wall. He walked over to her, putting his hands on her waist and leaning in to kiss the back of her head. She leant back into him.  
  
"Vincent," she sighed. "Why do we do these things to ourselves?"  
  
"I don't know," he replied softly. 


	2. Chapter Two

It was dark outside. The bedroom curtains were open, showing the city like fairy lights stretched out below the apartment. Vincent lay still, thinking, his hands slowly wandering over Charlotte's stomach as she lay across him, her head rested on his shoulder, her eyes half closed.  
  
"What was I?" Vincent asked suddenly.  
  
Charlotte looked up, surprised by the question. She thought a moment.  
  
"You were meant to be my best friend," she said dismissively.  
  
"Was I? Because I thought I was meant to be your husband. You know, 'til death do us part' and all that." He looked at her, trying not to let anger and hurt creep through in his voice. Charlotte sighed and nestled into his chest.  
  
"Vincent, I'm a lesbian. It's not your fault, it's not my fault, it's not my parents' fault."  
  
"Why did you marry me?" he pushed, not letting her dismiss his questions one more time. Charlotte turned towards him, resting her chin on his chest. Her fingers moved over his face, his shoulders. She bent and kissed his chest before she spoke.  
  
"I thought maybe I was just scared, you know? I had you, this wonderful man who was going to be everything for me. I was going to be married. And that's a scary thing for any girl. I mean, I'd always noticed girls, I guess. But I just somehow didn't notice that I did." She paused. Before he could speak, she continued.  
  
"I wanted to be a good wife to you," she assured him. "I wanted us to live together forever. I never thought I'd marry you then leave you. It wasn't like that."  
  
"What was it like? You thought you could turn yourself straight?"  
  
"You weren't a test, if that's what you're thinking."  
  
"I don't know what to think. I've never known what to think. I loved you. I thought things were wonderful. Then I hear that you're dating a girl, and I thought ... I thought wow, I must have been horrible to turn you to women."  
  
Charlotte laughed.  
  
"You didn't turn me to women," she assured him. "You just didn't turn me to men."  
  
"Is that what I was meant to do? Turn you to men? You marry me and the women disappear?" Although his hands still gently stroked her arm, he couldn't hide the emotion in his voice. Charlotte sat to look directly at him.  
  
"No, Vincent. I married you because I loved you."  
  
"Loved me how?" he asked.  
  
Charlotte paused, wanting to answer him truthfully. If they were to have this conversation, they were to do it properly, she decided.  
  
"At the start? I don't know. I thought I loved you like a boyfriend, like a husband. I wanted to. It never occurred to me that I didn't. You were a man I loved, the man I loved most, the man I enjoyed spending my time with. That meant I'd marry you. I just never questioned that. Maybe I was wrong to not question it, I don't know. It just honestly never occurred to me that we weren't ... that we wouldn't ..." she trailed off, unsure of what to say. "But I could ask you the same, couldn't I? Why did you marry me?"  
  
Vincent looked at her, surprised.  
  
"I loved you. God, I still love you, Charlotte. You were everything to me. I was shattered when you left. I felt like you'd been lying to me all those years. You had been lying to me all those years. I felt like I was just some toy you used and tossed aside. I wanted to grow old with you, I wanted to share my life with you."  
  
"Then why didn't you?" Charlotte retorted. "Why weren't you there for me? We were married for four years. You were never there. You were never home, and when you were you were a right pain in the arse. I needed you. It's not easy to realise that you're married and a lesbian, but that was just one of a million things I needed someone for. I needed a friend, Vincent. A best friend, someone to listen, someone to just hold me when I was lying in bed at night feeling so alone. You couldn't even be that."  
  
"Oh, so it's my fault?" Vincent asked. "We ended because I was a shit of a husband and a crappy friend, is that it?"  
  
"I didn't say that," Charlotte said.  
  
"We ended cos you're a lesbian," he reminded her.  
  
"I would have stayed."  
  
Vincent looked at her. "No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't," he repeated as she started to protest. "You couldn't, Charlotte. You're a lesbian, for Christ's sake. You love girls. You fall in love with girls. It just wouldn't have ever worked. It couldn't have worked. You couldn't have gone on lying to yourself, to the world, to me. I wouldn't have let you."  
  
"That's bullshit and you know it," Charlotte retorted. Vincent's expression turned to one of hurt, as his attempts at gentleness were thrown back in his face.  
  
"OK, let's say it's bullshit. What's your version then? You stay? Forever? I'm the perfect husband and you stay married to me, perfectly happy, not checking out every girl who walks past, not wishing it was them you were going home to?"  
  
"I would have stayed," Charlotte insisted through tears. Vincent reached out to stroke her hair and his tone became gentle once more.  
  
"You couldn't. There weren't any choices. I could have been a better husband, but you could never have stayed. You are who you are, and I couldn't ask you not to be."  
  
Charlotte sniffed deeply, staring at the ceiling, thinking. She looked back at him, and her face crumpled as she tried to smile and cry at once.  
  
"I treated you so badly," she said, bringing her hand up to his where it still rested on her face. "Why don't you hate me?"  
  
Vincent looked down at the bed, then back at her.  
  
"I don't understand how they couldn't be in love with you, Charlotte. I've tried so many times not to be, and it's useless. It's really bloody useless. I wanted you back so many times, but seeing you at the hospital, with your work, your friends, your newfound lesbian air ..." Charlotte laughed with him. "... I let you go then. Not before. I was still clinging to you for so long, and I did hate you for a while, right at the start, when you first waltzed back into my life. When you hugged me in emergency I just wanted to cry, or throw you against a wall. I'm not sure which. But you're happy. Lonely, but happy. I can see that now. And I wouldn't ever want to take that away from you."  
  
Charlotte leant her face into his hand, then brought it to her mouth, kissing his fingers. She looked into his eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks.  
  
"I don't know what to say," she whispered. "How do I take our pain away?"  
  
Vincent's voice wavered as he whispered his reply. "I don't know," he said, pulling their faces close. 


	3. Chapter Three

Charlotte had woken first, disentangling herself from a mess of sheets and Vincent's body parts. She climbed out of bed and dressed quickly before Vincent could wake or pull her back in. Sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, she heard him moving in the bedroom before she saw him.  
  
"Hey," he said, standing against the far wall with a towel around his waist.  
  
Charlotte read a few more lines before looking up. "Hey," she replied, her face emotionless.  
  
"How are you?"  
  
Charlotte shrugged. "Alright. You?"  
  
"Yeah, alright. Um ... are we ... we're OK, yeah?"  
  
Charlotte took a sip of coffee and looked down at the newspaper again, then back at Vincent.  
  
"I'm not sure."  
  
"But you're still here. That's a good sign, right?"  
  
Charlotte took a moment to think.  
  
"I don't know," she decided. "I'm not sure what we need right now. More space, less space, answers, less talking. I don't know." She waited, then asked, "What do you think?"  
  
"I think you don't want me to be in love with you."   
  
Charlotte laughed cynically. "Well yeah, that's a good place to start," she said, looking up at him. "Can we do that though? Can we go down that road? Hash out all our problems without just dredging the past back up again? We both know we didn't work out, why not just leave it?"  
  
Vincent took a few steps into the room. "Because it doesn't work like that, Charlotte. You can't just bury it all away and pretend it's not there. Every time I look at you I remember you being my wife. I remember holding you in my arms."  
  
"Well don't," she interrupted harshly, rising from the seat. Throwing the newspaper on the bench, she grabbed her coat off the sofa. "Don't remember. We can't go there again. For whatever reason. My fault, your fault, it doesn't matter. It's over, Vincent. Get over it."  
  
She stormed out of the apartment before he could move. His mind blank for things to say, he watched her go, then leant back against the wall. 


	4. Chapter Four

"You're in a good mood today."  
  
Charlotte looked at Von.  
  
"Sorry," Von said, raising her hands in a surrender position. "Don't mind me, I just work here," she added under her breath as she grabbed a bedpan and headed for the door.  
  
Charlotte turned away, then back again.  
  
"Von," she said. Von turned slowly towards her, still in the doorway.  
  
"I'm sorry, you're right. I'm just ... Things aren't so good right now," Charlotte offered in explanation. Von moved into the room, putting the pan on the table.  
  
"Really. We hadn't noticed."  
  
Charlotte smiled, then sat. Looking up at Von, she said, "I'm being really immature about all this, aren't I?"  
  
"No, I wouldn't say immature," Von said hesitantly, sitting across from her. "But ..."  
  
"What?" Charlotte prompted.  
  
"Oh, nothing. Never mind."  
  
Charlotte paused a moment, then decided to see what Von had to offer.  
  
"It's Vincent," she began. Von laughed to herself. "You knew that," Charlotte noted. "It was a shock, you know? Having him come back into my life again. I'd thought he was long gone. He's still in love with me."  
  
"Oh," Von said, her tone one of realisation.  
  
"What should I do?"  
  
"About what?" Von asked. Charlotte looked puzzled. "Well, the problem isn't that he's in love with you, is it? It's that he doesn't approve. He's a man. They don't like being knocked down a peg, especially by a woman. You knocked him about as far as you can knock a man."  
  
Charlotte nodded in understanding.  
  
"Should I feel guilty for that?" she asked, a defensive tone creeping into her voice.  
  
"Oh, no. Of course not. You can't pretend," Von said matter-of-factly.  
  
The two sat in silence a few moments longer, before Von reached for the pan and left the room. When she was gone Charlotte dropped her head in her hands and let out a loud groan. Looking around the room aimlessly, she stood and walked out. 


	5. Chapter Five

"Vincent."  
  
Vincent stopped, turning to where the voice had come from. Charlotte ran to catch up to him.  
  
"Hello," he said amicably.  
  
"We need to talk. Can I come around tonight?"  
  
Vincent's face clouded over. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea."  
  
"Please, Vincent. I've done some thinking and you're right, and I've been wrong, and I think we should clear the air."  
  
Vincent paused, thinking. This was what he had wanted, but now that the moment was here he didn't like the finality of it all.  
  
"Fine," he said finally. "I finish at six. I'll meet you out the front of the hospital."  
  
"Good," she said, her tone matching his. He looked at her sharply and walked off, leaving Charlotte standing in the middle of emergency, looking after him, her shoulders stooped. 


	6. Chapter Six

They sat side by side on the couch, stiff and unmoving. The drive to his place had been mostly in silence, with no words spoken since. Vincent waited for Charlotte to speak, watching her as she thought. Eventually she turned towards him, flicked her hair out of her eye, and spoke.  
  
"Vincent, I'm sorry. OK? I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I left you. No," she said, as he began to interrupt, "Let me finish. I have to say this, then you can have your turn."  
  
"Oh, I get a turn too, do I?" he mumbled. "Go on," he said as she looked at him.  
  
"I'm a lesbian," she said, reiterating the well-known fact that had come between them. "I don't like men, I like women. You know that. You know all that. You were saying yourself last night that I can't change me, that it's not my fault. And it's not, Vincent. It's not my fault that I couldn't love you like you wanted to be loved."  
  
Vincent began to speak, then thought better of it, letting her have her turn in the hope that she'd do likewise for him. He nodded for her to continue. She leant back into the couch, facing the wall opposite them.  
  
"It was stupid to marry you. I mean, I was happy, at the time. I thought I wanted it to be forever. I honestly don't know how I didn't realise, and I've wondered so many times why I just didn't see the signs. How I can fool myself so well that even I don't know me. But I did, and I fooled you, too. And I married you, and that was wrong. And I left you, and that hurt you, and that was probably wrong too, I don't know."  
  
"It wasn't wrong," Vincent said softly. She ignored him and continued with her thoughts.  
  
"It wasn't a wonderful marriage, though. Was it? Deep down I never wanted you to be a husband, I wanted you to be a best friend. And you were a husband. You were a wonderful husband," she said bitterly. "You had a great job and shitloads of money and you looked after your woman in all the old fashioned ways. But there was never anyone for me to come home to, was there? Never anyone to talk to about my day, never anyone to cry to when I was upset, never anyone to listen to me bitch or whine or carry on."  
  
She paused, and Vincent sat silent.  
  
"I might have stayed if it had been better." She turned to look at him. "I'm sorry I left you, Vincent. I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I'm a lesbian and I couldn't be a good wife. But ..." Her eyes filled with tears as she tried to find the right words. "You weren't good for me. You weren't what I wanted. In any way, really. And I'm sorry that that'll hurt you too, but it's true. We can only be friends now, without all this coming between us, if we're honest. And honestly, Vincent, I loved you, and you were wonderful. But in the end you were too much like a husband and not enough like a friend."  
  
They sat in silence for a few minutes while he thought. She had asked to see him, but he wasn't here to listen. He was here to make her understand.  
  
"Charlotte." He paused, bringing a hand up to her face.  
  
"Don't," she warned through tears.  
  
He looked into her eyes for a moment, before pulling his hand away. "OK," he said. "OK." He thought a moment. "I loved you," he said. "I really did love you. And you're right, I sucked as a husband. I was worse as a friend. I wasn't much of anything to you, really. But I wanted to be. I stuffed up - I know that, Charlotte. I pushed you away and I was surprised when you walked, and I shouldn't have been." He leant forward, resting his head in his hands, trying not to lose his composure.  
  
Sitting back again, he continued, his eyes red and moist. Charlotte breathed in sharply, not recalling seeing him cry so openly before. "I wanted to be good for you. And if I stuffed up, I could live with that. I could easily hate myself for the rest of my life for hurting you. But I can't, not really. It doesn't fix anything. Because there was nothing I could do for you. Not a damn thing. You lied to me for all those years, making me think I could be the one to make you happy. I couldn't. I was a man, Charlotte, and you let me think that was what you wanted. When you left, I was shattered. I pulled myself back into line and I worked a lot of things out and I realised where I fucked up. And I was going to make myself into a better person and come back to you, ask you to take me back. Beg, if I had to. Because I wanted to make you happy."  
  
He avoided looking at her, refusing to be deterred by the tears on her face, her broken, sympathetic expression.  
  
"When I found out you were dating women, I did hate you. For letting me think I could be something to you. For letting me think I meant something to you." He spat the last sentence, his tone one of disgust at his own naivety. He looked up at Charlotte, speaking softly. "You made me think I could make you happy. That was the worst thing you could have done to me, Charlotte. That hurt me more than anything else, realising that after all these years, I never could have made you happy even if I had done everything right. Realising that I'd wasted four years of my life making a home for us, for someone who didn't even want to be living in it. That hurt. And we can be the friends you wanted, I can sit here and listen to you talk, but my heart won't be in it. I can't forgive you for that. I can give you anything you want, out of a gesture of remorse for everything I did wrong back then, but I can't go back there. I can't care for you, I can't sit and listen to you. You lied to me, and you let me believe."  
  
Vincent's steady voice and calm composure countered Charlotte's sudden crying. Sitting still, she wept silently, her eyes staring through him, showing a mix of pain and sorrow. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks as her lips quivered and, realising he wasn't going to say anything further, the weeping turned to heartbroken sobs. Vincent stood, pausing a moment to look down into her pleading eyes, then walked into the bedroom. He heard her collapse onto the couch, crying loudly, before shutting the door behind him. Several minutes later he sank back into the bed as he heard her gather her things and slip quietly out the front door.  
  
***  
  
[chapter seven in progress] 


End file.
